Frozen Tears
by LooneyDottyMaddyNutcase
Summary: Years of isolation, of death and despair, Harry arrives on a new world, where myths are real, where fairies and santa actually exists. But then again, he did come from a world of stories. Few years of exploring later, he meets with a teenager, hair white as snow, eyes blue as the sky. Maybe... arriving at the new world isn't that bad after all. AN: AU, OOC Master of Death Harry


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor Rise of the Guardian**

* * *

Dull, lifeless emerald eyes peered at the red moon.

A lone figure was sitting amongst thousands and thousands of decaying bodies. His cape, torn beyond repairing, fluttered with the wind.

The color red dyed the soil on the ground.

The metallic smell was overwhelming.

There was not a single noise, except for the cackling of the green fire and the soft fluttering of fabrics.

The war, no, massacre was horrifying leaving none mortals alive.

All had perished except for the one immortal:

The Master of Death, Harry James Potter.

1000 years had passed since he received his title.

1000 years since he ruled over the world:

1000 years of peacefulness and harmony.

1000 years of joy, happiness, laughter and fun.

All ended abruptly when the plague happened.

No one knows what happened. No one knows who started it, but when they noticed, it was already too late. Too many had been infected.

The muggles first, then the magical creatures, and the wizarding kinds.

All of them, every single one of them, swallowed by insanity. Madness.

Then they started killing one another. Killing and eating, tearing out the hearts, just for the sheer joy of it. Laughter and tears, screams and hopelessness.

By the time Harry noticed, half of the muggle population was gone.

Only 5 hours had passed.

How was that even possible?

He tried, oh yes, he sure as hell tried. He was the Master of Death, for God's sake!

But… it was no use.

Whatever it was, it was eating up the livings' sanity, tearing their mind apart, leaving nothing but sick madness behind.

Five day had passed.

Five days of hell.

Five days of insanity.

Then, silence.

Here he was, sitting on bodies, gazing at the pale metallic red moon, humming slightly.

He giggles. Maybe, maybe it had taken his sanity as well. Maybe he will join the others as well.

Oh, he sure wishes it was true. Why not they take his sanity? _Why? _Why leave him alone? Why must he suffer through this? Why can't he summon the dead? Why should he be the only immortal that live?

"Why… Why?!" he asked the moon. He hugged his legs and buried his face in his arms. He wished to cry, to let go of this guilt, the guilt that is slowly eating him. This horribly pain in his chest.

To lost everything he know, everything he loves and cherished, in just five days, was too much for him.

Yet…

Why is he still sane?

* * *

After 66 years and 37 629 of attempts suicides, Harry Potter finally gave up.

He strolls through the ruins, carefully-not very carefully, stepping on the skeletons as to avoid the red soil and cement permanently stained by blood.

The crushing-bone sound and the soft humming echoed among the ruined buildings.

Everything else was still, eerily quiet and unnaturally still.

Harry keeps on walking and skipping on the skeletons, humming the first song that come to his mind: 'It's a small world'.

He sings, with an eerier smile plastered on his face.

Softly and gently, hair raising, spine chilling, he sings.

"It's a world of laughter, a world or tears" Step, crush, step crush.

"It's a world of hopes…" He stops walking, his shoulder starts shaking, his arms holding his stomach, and then a full blown laughter erupted. He laughed and laughed and… he would have cried if not for the fact that his tear duct has dried years ago.

Then as sudden as his laughter come, he stopped.

"… it's a world of fear.

That it's time we're aware

It's a small world after all."

He continued…

"…it's a small world after all

It's a small world after all…"

He stopped and spread his arms on both of his side,

"It's a small world after all

It's a small, small world"

He looks at the moon and his grins widened.

"There is just one moon and one golden sun

And a smile means friendship to everyone

Though the mountains divide

And the oceans are wide

It's a small, small world

It's a small world after all

It's a sm…"

He walks towards the horizon, with no destination nor goal in his mind.

He just walks and hums and sing and walks and walks and…

* * *

He could hear sound of the chirping birds, the splashing of the rivers, the soft melody of the wind.

He could feel the warm sun, shining onto his face asking him to wake up.

He could feel the wind blowing playfully at him, urging him to play with them.

He could fee…

Wait…

There's something wrong with this image.

Harry James Potter, aka the Master of Death, opened his eyes and bolted upright.

His eyes widened dramatically.

Green, the first color he saw, but could not acknowledge. Movements! A lot of small foreign movements! _Foreign?_

_The noises… the colors..._

He stood up, slowly and painfully.

He turned and looked around him. All his brains movements stopped.

_Trees! Living green trees!_

He looked down and saw green grasses. He kneels down, body bended so he can touch and feel the living green grasses.

_Yes… YES! He can feel them_._ He CAN!_

He closes his eyes and spread out his rusty magic. Concentrated… concentrate…

And something brushes with his magic. Soothing and calming with curiosity.

He jolts.

_Magic! Foreign living magic!_

He could feel his heart beats pounding on his chest.

_Is it possible?_ He would not hope. _Is he… is he in another world? Or maybe is he in the past?_

Then he starts laughing

He stood up, and started to run.

He laugh, giggles and run.

All the while looking around him, touching the green, smooth leaves, the rough barks, feeling the grasses crushing under his bare feet as he run listening to the birds as the sang.

This feeling…

For 77 years of loneliness and despair, he had never slept nor ate. He does not feel any physical pain nor does he care. He dare not dream, nor hope.

For 77 years, he had not seen a single speck of life nor seen movements except for his own.

For 77 years, he had not seen any green nature nor feel any wind.

77 years with no sun, only the red moon.

77 years of talking and singing to himself.

77 years of the color red, grey and black.

And now… there was no word to describe his overwhelming feelings that are building up in his chest.

Happiness, joy, disbelieve…

Is this even possible?

Is this real?


End file.
